


Brotherly Love Never Dies

by MycroftNeedsMoreBullshit



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Brotherly Love, Brothers, Feels, Holmes Brothers, I'm Bad At Summaries, I'm Bad At Tagging, Mycroft Being Mycroft, Mycroft Being a Good Brother, Mycroft Feels, Mycroft-centric, Sad Ending, Sherlock Holmes and Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-23
Updated: 2017-04-23
Packaged: 2018-10-23 03:13:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10710987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MycroftNeedsMoreBullshit/pseuds/MycroftNeedsMoreBullshit
Summary: The relationship between two brothers is usually complicated but rewarding. The Holmes brothers were no exception, even though almost everyone thought so. In reality their relationship was just more complicated than the other’s, but that didn’t mean that they didn’t care for each other.





	Brotherly Love Never Dies

**Author's Note:**

> I felt like I had to write a fic about these little boys! I wrote most of this in lessons because I was bored. The title was sort of temporary but I couldn't come up wwith a better one so it's a huge cliche :'DD  
> I have read it once and corrected every mistake I spotted but please note that English isn't my native language so there might still be some grammar mistakes.

He had always been there for Sherlock.

 

Mycroft’s tiny, plump fingers stroked his three-year-old brother’s curly hair unsurely. Tears rolled down Sherlock’s cheeks. There were tiny specks of blood on Sherlock’s knees. The little boy was sobbing quietly, but somehow Mycroft’s touch calmed him down. Mycroft ruffled Sherlock’s hair a bit more confidently than before. Even though the older Holmes brother wasn’t very good with emotions or comforting anyone, he still wanted to make his brother feel better. He had tried to talk to Sherlock, but that hadn’t done anything good, but the touch seemed to work. Sherlock sniffed one last time and wiped his eyes.

“It’s okay Sherlock. Mummy will patch you up,” Mycroft said to Sherlock. He helped the young boy up from the ground and they started towards their home.

 

Even if it didn’t always seem like it.

 

“Sherlock! Sherlock, come home!” Mycroft called after his brother. Sherlock stubbornly continued his search, not listening to Mycroft.

“Redbeard! Where are you?” The worried tone in Sherlock’s voice hurt Mycroft’s chest. The older boy sped up and caught Sherlock’s arm. The dark-haired boy squirmed a bit, but Mycroft was stronger. Sherlock gave up, tears forming in his eyes.

“Let go of me! I have to find Redbeard!” Sherlock cried out, his voice trembling a bit. Mycroft felt bad for his brother. He wanted to let go and let Sherlock go search for his friend. Maybe Mycroft could even help him to find Redbeard. But Mummy had asked Mycroft to find Sherlock and bring him back home. It was getting late and  the forest was awfully dark at night. Mycroft had to do what Mummy had told him. After all he was the older one and had to do everything he could to protect his brother.

“Sherlock you have to come home. It’s getting dark and you’ll get lost.” Sherlock looked at Mycroft with teary eyes.

“But I have to find Redbeard,” Sherlock repeated after a tiny pause. Mycroft was feeling sorry for his brother, but didn’t yield.

“Mummy wants you home. We’ll find Redbeard tomorrow if it’s not too late.” That was a mistake. Sherlock’s expression changed. He looked at Mycroft in a shock. A tear rolled down Sherlock’s cheek. Mycroft felt really bad. Then he saw the anger in Sherlock’s expression.

“Let go of me!” Sherlock screamed and suddenly ripped his arm off of Mycroft’s hold. Sherlock ran off and left Mycroft standing alone in the forest.

 

He was always doing his best.

 

Mycroft spotted a thin cloud of smoke coming from behind the shed where he had been playing in with Sherlock when they were younger. Mycroft sighed as he once again walked to his brother. Sherlock was leaning on the wall with a cigarette hanging from his lips.

“Those will kill you. And Mummy doesn’t like you smoking. You’re only 13,” Mycroft said casually.

“You’re not her,” Sherlock said, puffing out a cloud of smoke. Sometimes he could be so stubborn.

“No, I’m not, and I know that your new...habit is none of my business. But...You might want to consider giving it up. For Mummy,” Mycroft tried to persuade, but as always, Sherlock didn’t listen. He just snorted and dropped the cigarette butt to the ground. The young boy stomped it with the heel of his shoe and blew out the rest of the smoke.

“She’ll never know,” Sherlock said and walked away. Mycroft sighed as he watched his brother go.

 

He had saved Sherlock countless times.

 

“William Sherlock Scott Holmes!” Mycroft hissed at the limp young man who was lying on the dim alley. “What have we talked about this?” Sherlock moved a bit, bloodshot eyes struggling a bit before they found Mycroft. Sherlock grunted and turned his gaze away from Mycroft. The older brother sighed. How could Sherlock do this to himself?

“Come on, I’m taking you somewhere safe. There’s no need to tell Mummy if you don’t want to,” Mycroft sighed, helping his brother from the ground just like he had done all those years ago when Sherlock had fallen on his knees. This time the boy was almost fully grown man, still being saved by his brother.

“What did you take?” Mycroft wondered when they were standing up. Or more like when he was, Sherlock just leaned to Mycroft.

“I can’t remember,” Sherlock muttered. His voice was slurred and absent. The older Holmes brother sighed and supported Sherlock and they made their way down the alley, towards Mycroft’s car.

“Promise me something. From now on, every time you do drugs, could you make a list of what you have taken and how much?” Mycroft asked, worried about his brother’s state. He feared that he would have to take Sherlock to the hospital.

“Maybe I should…” The answer surprised Mycroft. He arched a brow in disbelief. Had Sherlock agreed to something just like that? Apparently he had. Mycroft thought that he should probably ask it again later, when Sherlock wasn’t so...absent from this world.

“Don’t worry Sherlock, I won’t let Mummy know about this,” Mycroft assured when the silence had lingered around them for a while.

 

Sometimes it was hard to care for Sherlock when they weren’t in speaking terms.

 

“How has Sherlock been?” Mycroft asked Anthea when he got in the car. The young girl lifted her gaze from her phone and looked at her boss.

“He has found a new flatmate. A former army doctor. Seems like a honest man, but he suffers from some psychological problems. The address is 221 B Baker Street. Do you want to meet the man?”

“Yes, I suppose that it would be wise to see this new friend of Sherlock. Tomorrow evening would work, don’t you think?” Mycroft watched Anthea nod and then she directed her attention back to her phone. Mycroft looked out of the window. Even though Mycroft didn’t admit it, he missed his brother. Sometimes Mycroft hated himself for doing things the way he did them. Sometimes he wanted to be a normal big brother for Sherlock. But he had to accept one fact. He wasn’t normal and neither was Sherlock so naturally their relationship had to be out of the ordinary. A deep sigh escaped the man’s lips, attracting Anthea’s attention for a second. To Mycroft’s luck, the young woman returned to her work quickly.

 

Even though he said that caring was a disadvantage, deep down he cared for Sherlock more than anything.

 

Mycroft was pacing around the room restlessly. He was so concerned about his brother. Of course he had to chase a criminal and get stabbed. Luckily the wound wasn’t big and the blade hadn’t hit anything vital. Mycroft couldn’t stop thinking about Sherlock dying. It was the most horrible thing he could imagine. He didn’t want to outlive his little brother. It was his responsibility to protect Sherlock and if something happened, he failed. He had failed. Sherlock was in a hospital. He had been hurt. Just because Mycroft had been busy with work. Guilt nibbled Mycroft’s chest when he thought about his little brother, bleeding on a dark alley. Thank God John was there and realized to call an ambulance. A firm knock on the door startled Mycroft and he stopped on his tracks.

“Come in,” he called. Anthea appeared to the room.

“They just called from the hospital. Sherlock is all right. He’ll survive,” she told her boss. Mycroft let out a tiny sigh of relief, hoping that Anthea wouldn’t pay attention to it.

“Will you be visiting him?” she asked Mycroft, but the man shook his head.

“I’m just happy that he’s alive.”

 

He just had weird ways of showing his affection.

 

It had been three years since Sherlock’s faked suicide. Every day Mycroft had thought about his decision to send Sherlock all around the world to take out Moriarty’s web. Every day he had thought about bringing his little brother home and letting some agents take care of the remaining criminals. But Mycroft knew that Sherlock had to do it himself. Sherlock had to kill every man who was a threat to Mrs Hudson, D.I. Lestrade and to John. Especially to John. Mycroft had trusted Sherlock to do the job with care, but he had still watched over his brother in any way he could. Even though they hadn’t been close in ages, Mycroft still cared for his brother. And now that Sherlock was in front of him, scarred, thin and tired, Mycroft knew that he had made the right decision even though Sherlock had suffered. Deep inside Mycroft was smiling but his expression stayed ever so cold and calm.

 

Even when Mycroft made mistakes, he still didn’t give up as long as Sherlock was alive.

 

“I am terribly sorry John. I know I was wrong.” Mycroft admitting that he had been wrong so sincerely was something that happened every day. He could see the bewilderment and disbelief in John’s eyes as the shorter man looked at him. Mycroft sighed before he continued.

“I shouldn’t have told Sherlock that caring was a disadvantage. After all we know that he is the Holmes brother with a heart.” A smile sprinkled with some sadness and melancholy appeared to Mycroft’s features. He was truly sorry and wanted to show it, even though he knew that John had a very little liking of the older Holmes brother. Mycroft still hoped that John would see him differently some day. Even though Mycroft really wasn’t a person who seeked the approval of other people, his brother’s best friend’s opinion mattered to him. It felt a bit weird but he couldn’t help the feeling. Maybe he wasn’t so heartless when it came to family. Or it could be that Mycroft knew that if John didn’t think so highly of him, it would affect Sherlock too. After all John was the one Sherlock was spending most of his time with. Mycroft decided that the reason was the latter, but deep down he knew that the first option had some truth in it.

 

Even when Sherlock didn’t seem to appreciate his help, he was determined to give it to him anyways, from the dark, from the shadows that followed Sherlock.

 

“Mycroft. Mycroft!” Sherlock cried out, still panting heavily. Even though the older Holmes was barely conscious and the loud bang of the gunshot had made his ears ring, he heard the concern in his brother’s voice. Mycroft’s eyes were closed, but he could hear Sherlock running towards him. The older brother opened his eyes slowly. The pain in his chest made it hard to move.

“I almost had him. You shouldn’t have come here,” Sherlock sighed, clearly concerned about Mycroft.

“And leave you alone to be shot? No, not when John isn’t with you,” Mycroft said, his voice raspy and tired. The bullet hadn’t hit his heart or lungs, but he was bleeding heavily.

“John can’t be always there for me. I have managed well on my own too,” Sherlock claimed, taking his scarf from his neck and pressing it on the wound. “I’ll call an ambulance.” Sherlock took his phone from his pocket, still pressing on the wound on Mycroft’s chest with his other hand. He dialed the emergency number with trembling hands and called. After a while Mycroft shut his eyes again. He knew he had to stay conscious, but he was so tired.

“No, Mycroft, stay with me!” Sherlock cried. The panic in Sherlock’s voice got Mycroft to open his eyes. He couldn’t leave his brother like this. “The ambulance is here soon. Hang in there with me, try to stay awake, please.”

“I can try, brother mine, but I can’t promise,” Mycroft said, his voice so weak and powerless. A single tear rolled down on Sherlock’s cheek. “Oh, don’t cry Sherlock. You’ll manage without me.”

“Don’t say that. You have always been there. Even if I didn’t ask you to be. I don’t know who will be there to get me out of trouble,” Sherlock wailed, trying to hold back tears.

“You’ll just have to learn to avoid trouble,” Mycroft said, smiling a bit. “Besides, you have John.”

“It’s not the same. You are my brother.” The ambulance was near now. Mycroft heard the sirens and soon the lights were lighting the alley. The man was awfully pale and his perfectly tailored suit was soaked in blood. Even though Mycroft was afraid of the future, he was happy that he had saved Sherlock once more, even though it could be the last time he did so. As the paramedics closed in on Mycroft, he closed his eyes, for he was too tired to keep on. The last thing Mycroft heard before he was swallowed by the darkness was the desperate cries of Sherlock.

 

But he never told his brother that he truly loved him.


End file.
